


Home Sick

by The_Pen_and_the_Sword



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, i'm allergic to 100 percent density fluff so have some sadness for flavor, spoilers through Ep76
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 18:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20430149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Pen_and_the_Sword/pseuds/The_Pen_and_the_Sword
Summary: After returning from their adventures in the Greying Wildlands, the Mighty Nein is struck down by an insurmountable foe: the common cold. With their clerics caught unprepared, the party has little alternative but to slow down, rest up, and reflect on where they've been and how far they've come.





	Home Sick

**** It was a quiet day in the Xhorhaus. Well, day by technicality. The sky was as black and star speckled as it ever was over Rosohna, but according to the resident wizard and his never-faltering mental clock it was day. Late afternoon, to be precise, beginning its transition to evening. And it was quiet for anyone that was not as perceptive as Caduceus Clay.

Caduceus puttered about the kitchen, slowly assembling a carefully constructed pyramid of freshly baked rolls, small bowls of gently steaming soup, and hot cups of tea. As he worked, his long ears twitched and flicked on occasion as they caught intermittent sounds about the house: a cough from upstairs, a loud sneeze ringing from the opposite end of the building. 

On a normal day, the Mighty Nein’s home was never long without some kind of ruckus, be it a minor chemical explosion from the lab, Jester pounding up and down the stairs for the sheer amusement of it, or two or more individuals shouting, hollering, or laughing at each other for one reason or another. Today, the usual sounds had been replaced by the muffled chorus of the infirm. Perhaps it had something to do with their recent snowy adventures in the Greying Wildlands, or maybe it was simply an inevitability come to call. The bug had swept through the team faster than any monster had ever managed to, and when they’d all woken up this morning to sore throats and stuffy noses, Caduceus had been the only one spared. Unfortunately, due to unpreparedness, the quick relief of a restoration spell was off the table, so the Mighty Nein, heroes of the Dynasty, would have to endure at least one day of the common cold. 

Another loud sneeze echoed down from the upper floor, so high-pitched and cute that it could only have come from Jester. Caduceus shook his head and rumbled a small laugh as he removed the last tray of buns from the hive-shaped brick oven. He couldn’t help but be reminded of his childhood back in the Blooming Grove. When he and his siblings would catch something, the days would become both much more peaceful and cozy, and yet bizarrely more chaotic at the same time. He remembered with fondness the days spent resting within their little home, with floral tea and warm fires at night, while their mother Constance kept the family occupied with stories or plantlore. Yet at the same time, illness meant a surplus of young firbolgs, who had a penchant for getting into mischief even when they were spread out, being packed into a two-room temple for at least a few days. Close proximity and sick, cranky children led to some rather distinct memories. Caduceus remembered once falling asleep in a large, sniffling pile of sibling and waking up outside in the graveyard alone, with no recollection of being moved and afterward was never able to find out who did it. 

His chuckle trailed off into a yearning silence. He missed his family. His road twisted and turned according to the Wildmother’s will, and he was more than content to follow wherever she led, but he was honest enough with himself to acknowledge that he longed to see his parents and siblings again. Even Clarabelle,  _ interesting  _ character that she was. 

He inhaled deeply, then let out a long sigh that rumbled low in his chest. 

Caduceus placed the last cup of tea on the tray and took a quick moment to assess that everything was in place. Six little settings all crowded together, and each carefully tailored. Jester’s dinner was marked in the top left corner of the tray by the two extra sweet buns on her plate that were practically drowning in honey. Fjord’s tea was left black and his soup made extra hearty, a proper sailor’s fare. Caleb preferred green tea, and had a curious habit of ripping his bread into exactly five smaller pieces and dipping it in the soup; Caduceus had done him the courtesy of pre-separating the rolls. And while Caduceus never partook himself, he made sure to have at least a few rashers of bacon available at all times for Nott and Beau to either eat or shove into their pockets at their own discretion. Nott’s were noticeably less cooked. 

Caduceus felt a surge of satisfaction and a little nostalgia; the personalized meals and treats had been something his mother had always done for him and his siblings in times of illness, and now he was passing along the tradition in a way. 

Another round of coughing echoed down from upstairs, breaking up the uncharacteristic quiet of the Xhorhaus. Caduceus was grateful for it. His family might be far away, drawn to distant lands by destiny’s call, but at least he was no longer living in a building where the sounds of life had long left it. As strange and as messy as they were, the Mighty Nein were a great comfort that way. Not to mention excellent distractions. 

With a pleased hum and a small smile, Caduceus hefted the tray up and pushed his way out of the kitchen, feeling just a little less homesick.

* * *

Fjord rolled over in his bed, trying to stifle another bout of racking coughs. His chest was already sore and his throat was burning.

He hated being ill. Not just because it was fucking uncomfortable as all hell, but because it always left him restless and unnerved. 

As he tried to settle and relax himself, a loud thump from the next room sent him jerking upright again, his heart rate pounding. 

There was some muffled bickering before Jester called out to him. “Sorry, Fjord.”

He let out a long, rasping sigh. “It’s fine, Jester.” He lay back down, throwing an arm over his eyes.

This was bullshit. He  _ knew  _ where he was, he  _ knew  _ that they were in about the safest place they could be, and that his paranoia was unfounded, but he couldn’t help it. Every time he closed his eyes and got lost in the discomfort of a stopped nose, sore throat, and gritty eyes, he found himself thinking— _ believing— _ that he was back there. Back in the Driftwood Asylum.

He hadn’t often gotten sick as a child, thank the gods. Whether it was a trait of his half-orcish blood or something specific to Fjord, his constitution had always been a little hardier than most. Yet it had happened on occasion, and every time he had woken up to the tell-tale symptoms, it had filled him with dread. The other kids could mock and bully him on a regular day, but even the cruelest of them were generally wary to go head-to-head with him. Unfortunately, that fear, wariness, grudging respect, or whatever the hell it was evaporated like ocean fog at noon when he was lying sick and shaky on his sleeping cot, and the owners of the orphanage couldn’t give two shits about what their charges did as long as no one straight-up died. 

There were taunts and pokes and hits, of course, but the other kids would often find more creative ways to mess with him. Fjord had had his hair sheared into a horrendous, patchy mess while he slept once. He’d gotten his shoes stolen  _ more _ than once, and was forced to go days without them until he could scrounge up a new pair, scorching his feet on sun-seared cobble streets. He’d once been given a wooden sword by a kind festival worker that had come through Port Damali, and he’d treasured it. He’d “practiced” with it in the asylum yard almost every day for three weeks. However, two days into an unexpected illness, three of the biggest boys in Driftwood had come for it, breaking it over one of their knees even as Fjord had feebly struggled to stop them. They’d pushed him over like he weighed nothing at all, and went away laughing. No one ever intervened, and no one ever offered to help.

Fjord flipped onto his other side, scrunching his eyes more tightly shut. He just wanted to go to sleep, damn it. Then he could skip this whole ordeal, wake up the next morning, and get a nice Restoration spell to send all this bullshit packing on its way. 

He tensed up again as a few soft knocks came at his door. “What?” he bit out with a little more harshness than intended.

“Hey, it’s Caduceus. I brought some dinner, I figured everyone could use a little something by now.”

For a moment, Fjord was caught in a suspended state of instinct versus thought. Everything he’d learned throughout his life told him that when he was sick, he needed to be _isolated_, he needed to be _out of sight_, he needed to push through this as quickly as possible before anyone caught on to his weakened state. Every survival instinct he had was telling him to shut up, lie very still, and for the gods’ sakes, _not_ to open his door.

But then… it was Caduceus, his mind whispered. Probably one of the last people Fjord could ever imagine kicking him while he was down. Unbidden, his eyes wandered to his new sword where it leaned upright in the corner of his room.

Slowly, Fjord sat up and heaved himself out of his bed. He shuffled forward on bare feet, nervous tension still thrumming through him, and unlocked the door.

Caduceus stood outside, as serene—and  _ healthy _ , Fjord thought grouchily—as ever. He held a massive tray in his hands, little trails of steam rising up from the collection of bowls and cups. 

Fjord stood in the doorway, subtly blocking entry but doing his best to not seem wary. “Uh, thank you, Caduceus. That was...nice.”

“It’s my pleasure,” the firbolg said with a casual shrug. His eyes gave Fjord a quick glance up and down, and Fjord got the frustrating impression that despite his best efforts, the damned cow man had seen right through him. Again. 

Caduceus set the tray down on the floor for a brief moment, and picked up a single set of dishes: a platter with a soup bowl and bread rolls, and a teacup on a saucer. He handed them to Fjord with a pleasant smile. “Just a little pick-me-up. The tea does wonders for a sore throat, if I remember it right. Best drink it while it’s hot.”

Fjord’s shoulders sagged a bit as he took the meal. Caduceus might be able to read him like an open book, but at least he wasn’t nosy about it. “Thank you. It’s much appreciated.”

Caduceus nodded in reply, and as he went to pick up the tray again, Fjord closed the door. Then he just stood there for a minute, looking down at the food and only half seeing it. Even through his stuffy nose, it smelled wonderful. 

“This is...fucking weird,” he whispered to himself. 

Hot meals? A comfortable bed? A house,  _ his  _ house? Nobody creeping up on him while he was vulnerable, ready to mock or steal from or hurt him? Someone that gave even a single shit about the orphan half-orc?

It was really goddamn weird.

Fjord wandered slowly back to his bed, sat down, and carefully put down the food. He picked up one of the rolls. Sniffed it. Took a bite. It was delicious. He washed it down with the tea, which was like a soothing balm on his scratchy throat. 

Yes, it was strange as hell. He’d never had this, not even on Vandren’s ship, where no one was out to hurt you but it was generally accepted that the thing to do when ill was to lie in your hammock and ride it out as best you could alone. That had been weird enough, but all this?!

Fjord took another bite. Still delicious. 

Strange, certainly. But it wasn’t the kind of strange he was going to complain about.   
  


* * *

Jester sniffled as she stared up at the ceiling. “Beau, did you know that if you sneeze really hard with your eyes open, then your eyes will pop out of your head?”

Beau, sprawled out face down on her bed across the room, groaned. “Think I heard that at some point.”

“Do you think…?” Jester paused, coughed, and continued. “Do you think… that if we tested that out and our eyes did pop out of our head, then I could put them back in with Cure Wounds?”

Beau’s head crept up just enough to reveal narrowed, dull blue eyes peeking over the rumpled sheets. “Is this a hypothetical you’re making, or a suggestion?”

“I’m really bored, Beau.”

“Not that this isn’t an interesting train of thought, but couldn’t you like… draw or something before resorting to eye popping? Or read one of your smut books?”

“I’ve already drawn a loooot,” Jester moaned, rolling over onto her side to properly engage her roommate in conversation, and to make sure her predicament was clearly conveyed. “And I lent my books to Caleb.”

“So just take ‘em back.”

“But if I take them back he won’t have anything to do. I can draw and talk to you and stuff, but Caleb, like, only ever reads. He’ll probably just stare at a wall or something and he’ll be really bored too.”

Beau let out a deep, crackling sigh and put her head back down in the blankets. Jester’s face was winding itself up for a good pout at her current plight, before Beau raised a finger. “Ya know, if anyone would be up for the eye popping test, I bet Caleb would be a good candidate. He sneezes like a fuckin’ dragon as is; if anyone’s eyes are coming out of their sockets easily, it’s his, and he’s always up for like, magical experimentation and shit.” 

Jester perked up. “You know, that makes a  _ lot  _ of sense. Also, he has Frumpkin so if I couldn’t put his eyes back into his head right away, then he could still see, technically.”

Beau snorted. “It would be like back in the pirate days, he’s just wearing an octopus on his head all day every day.”

“Although,” Jester said, tapping her chin. “I don’t know if when you sneeze your eyes out they just like, pop out, or if they’re just like hanging there. And if they’re still hanging there, can you still see out of them?”

“I dunno. It would make sneaking and peeking around corners a lot easier though.” Beau raised her head again, miming picking up a dangling eye and swinging around like she was looking through a spyglass. 

Jester gasped, just managing to avoid another coughing fit as she did. “Imagine how powerful Caduceus would be like that,” she whispered with absolute gravitas. 

Beau actually sat up this time. She mimed pulling out both eyes, waving them back and forth in great arcs. “I SEE AAAALLLL!”

Neither of them could help laughing this time. They both collapsed back onto their beds, cackling and coughing in equal measure. They were only able to hear the knocking on their door once they’d managed to settle down, with rough chuckles and gasps. “Come on in,” Jester called out breathlessly. “We’re definitely not both naked.”

Caduceus paused with the door half-open for just a brief moment, intense confusion flitting across his face, before fully entering. “I brought dinner,” he said with his usual lazy half-smile. 

Jester shot Beau a look, desperately trying to wrangle back more giggles, and it looked like Beau was doing the same. “Thank yoouuu,” Jester said, not quite managing to stop a tiny snicker. 

Still a little confused but otherwise undeterred, Caduceus came forward and set their two meals on their shared nightstand. 

“Aw dope, bacon!” Beau cried, reaching over and snatching a piece and shoving it her mouth. “Cad, ‘ve I eber tolth oo I love oo?” 

“I don’t think so, but the sentiment is appreciated.”

Jester herself caught the scent of honey and her eyes widened. She grabbed one of the honey buns and inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut. She would never get tired of it: the heavenly blend of hot bread drenched in butter, honey, and cinnamon.

Her nose twitched and she paused. Her eyes flicked open. Oh yes. No cinnamon. Jester’s shoulders sagged just a little.

“You okay there, Jess?”

She glanced up to Beau staring at her. Caduceus had disappeared. She must have spaced out for a little bit. 

“Ummm, yeah, I’m fine,” Jester said as cheerily as she could.

Beau arched one eyebrow.

“Um, well, it’s just that… you know, when I would get sick when I was little and my momma wasn’t working, she would come to my room and we would share sweets. Like honey buns.” She held one up in her hand. “It wasn’t like  _ all _ the time, but we’d always do it at least once. This is the first time I’ve been sick away from home and I…” Jester trailed off, staring down at the honey bun again.

Beau finished for her. “You miss her.”

Jester nodded. For a brief second the sadness swelled inside of her, before she thought back to just a minute before, to the laughter and silliness. “But you know, it’s not so bad as I thought it would be.”

“Oh?”

“Mm hm. Momma was always telling me to rest, and when she was working I couldn’t even go hang out with Blud or anything. I was just in my room. And the Traveler is great, you know, he was the best to have around, but he couldn’t be there every day.” She looked up to meet Beau in the eyes, a more genuine smile emerging this time. “But now you’re here all the time! And I’m not just in my room sick and bored by myself!”

“We’re sick and bored in our room together.”

“Yeah!” piped Jester.

Beau looked a mess, her face clammy, eyes dull, and her brown hair hanging loose from its usual bun in a tangled mop. However, the wolfish smile she gave Jester was pure Beau. “Hell yeah! Boredom buddies!” She reached out across the gap between them, fist clenched for a bump. Jester was more than happy to dangle precariously off her bed to meet it.

It felt good to have friends, especially when she was sick.

* * *

Beau reclined back on her bed, arms crossed behind her head as she stared up at the ceiling. She glanced at the nightstand longingly, her platter of food waiting for her. She’d only managed to bolt down a few slices of bacon before Jester had declared that they should make this a proper tea party and fetch Fjord over to join them. Beau had then been banned from eating anything else until she got back.

She closed her eyes to rest them for a few moments, breathing as deeply as she could while congested. Outside their room, she could hear Jester’s muffled voice through the door. It was a pleasant buzz of noise, and Beau allowed her mind to drift some. 

She was glad Jester was okay despite being separated from her mom, and more than happy to be one of the reasons Jester didn’t feel as homesick as she might have. After all, Beau knew a little something about sickness and loneliness going hand in hand. It hadn’t been truly  _ alone _ loneliness, like Jester seemed to get a lot of. People had been  _ around  _ Beau when she caught a bug in her childhood, but  _ around  _ was the best she could say about them. There were nannies, babysitters, tutors, and the occasional physician if she’d caught something nasty; the kind of people that were there to watch but not really to comfort. 

Beau huffed to herself. It really wasn’t that big of a deal. It wasn’t like she’d been left alone to fend for herself. She was always fed, always as comfortable as she needed to be, had a nice soft bed to curl up in while she slept off her condition. And it’s not like her parents had been all that great company anyway, so what was there to miss?

And yet…

Beau couldn’t help imagining it. She’d met Marion Lavorre, and she knew how much she and Jester loved each other. She could easily picture the two of them in her friend’s childhood bedroom, little Jester huddled below puffy coverlets and Marion perched on the edge of the bed, the two of them snacking on sticky sweets while the moon shone in through the window. Even if Jester’s mom had often been busy, it was still a wonderful image. For an experimental second, Beau tried to transpose her memories over this conjured scene: it was her old bedroom, with herself in Jester’s place and her own mother in Marion’s. Her eyelids clenched shut a little tighter. The picture didn’t fit at all. 

Had it always been like that? Like most people, the memories Beau had of her early childhood were spotty at best. Had there been a point when her mother and father had come to her room to see her when she was sick, to sit by her side and keep her company? If there had been, she certainly couldn’t remember it. 

Beau turned over onto her other side. Jester still wasn’t back yet. Beau wished she would hurry it up already. 

With nothing else to occupy her, and her mind already wandering in unwanted directions, a new thought came to Beau: a thought for her little brother, the one she’d never met. She wondered if, as he grew older, he would go through the same experiences she’d had when she was sick: curled up in the center of a too-large bed in a too-large room, passing silent and boring days under the covers, sniffling and aching and wishing, wishing, wishing for just one hug, or a tender voice, or for someone to sit on the edge of the bed as he drifted off to sleep. Would he also occasionally slip out of his room, seeking out his parents, only to be firmly ordered back to bedrest without so much as a pat on the head? It was a depressing thought, but Beau, despite the shot of guilt it sent directly to her stomach, preferred it to the alternative. Maybe instead,  _ he  _ would get to drift off to sleep with doting parents looking over him from his bedside. Maybe  _ he  _ would run from his room in the middle of the night, feeling awful and unable to sleep and on the verge of tears, only to be met by loving arms that would pick him up, hold him, and tell him  _ everything was going to be okay.  _

Without even really being aware of it, her right fist lashed out and slammed into the wall. Her knuckles throbbed, and she left a slight dent.

“Beau?”

Beau jolted upright. Jester was standing in the doorway, her face drawn with confusion.

Beau’s mouth flapped open and then shut again. She felt a traitorous dampness at the corners of her eyes, but hopefully that would be put down to fever brightness. Then she found her words. “Uhhh, yeah, it’s the… it’s the stuffy nose. Driving me bonkers.” 

For a second Jester said nothing, the concern in her eyes never wavering. Beau was gearing up to double down on the excuse when the worried expression Jester wore cracked, giving way to a smile that started almost gently, before growing to its usual bright, contagious grin. “Well, now that I’m back hopefully we can distract you with some sweets. Come on, Fjord!” And with a solid yank of her hand as she stepped inside, their half-orc friend came stumbling into the room behind her with a sharp yelp.

“Already dizzy! Please don’t throw me!”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t let you fall over, Fjord.”

While the other two were distracted, Beau hurriedly dashed away the lingering tears in her eyes. The upwelling of sadness, resentment, anger, and worthlessness, which had begun to crest past her constricting chest and work itself into a painful lump in her throat, was stopped abruptly in its tracks as she watched Jester and Fjord begin pulling pillows and blankets off of Jester’s bed and arranging them like a nest on the floor. 

“Come on, Beau,” Jester said, her bright grin even wider. “Pull some of yours down, then we can all sit together.”

Beau swallowed, and the lump disappeared. Slowly, she began divesting her bed of its coverings and helping assemble their indoor picnic spread. When that was done, she settled down cross-legged, her meal in front of her and her friends at triangle corners with her. They were all a mess. Jester and Fjord were both flushed and dressed in rumpled sleep clothes, Jester’s hair was comparable to a frazzled blue bird’s nest, and Beau knew she didn’t look much better. But that was fine. They’d seen each other in worse states, and at the moment—hot food waiting for them, in a room that was not too large or too empty, and with company to drive away unwelcome thoughts—it all looked damn good to Beau. And as they began pecking at their tiny feast, she realized that it didn’t matter if her little brother was back in Kamordah, getting everything that she had ever wanted but had somehow never been good enough to receive. He was welcome to it. Here and now, across the continent in her own house, having replaced that too-large empty room with stupid jokes about sneezing out eyeballs, surprisingly good dead people tea, and the first friends Beau had ever had…

That picture suited her just fine. And Beau was content. 

* * *

Caleb sniffed as he turned to the next page in his book. The rising compulsion to sneeze was creeping up on him, and he tried to hold it back. Perhaps if he focused even more intently on the story, he could ignore the nagging feeling  _ and _ his raging headache until they both went away. His dry, aching eyes whipped rapidly through the paragraphs, and he turned over another page. The book was a recent purchase of Jester’s, florid and smutty as per usual, but the worldbuilding was surprisingly good. 

For a moment, he thought his plan had worked.

_ “ACHOO! _ ” The sneeze was so loud that Frumpkin, who was dozing on the bedroom window sill, shot to his feet with his hackles up and his tail floofed out, hissing quietly. 

The weight splayed across Caleb’s shins and feet abruptly jolted off of him, before he found himself staring into bleary yellow eyes the size of tea saucers. “You sure you’re alright, Caleb?!” asked a frantic and rather slurred voice. “That sneeze sounded a lot bigger this time, I think you might be dying.”

“I’m  _ fine _ , Nott,” he replied with a tone that he hoped was soothing but he suspected just came out very congested. He ruffled her dark hair. “You should not worry so much about me. I think you are more sick than I am, and you need to rest.”

“Pss _ sshh _ , ‘m fine. I’m fuckin’ great. But you,” Nott said even as she began slumping back down and curling into a ball at his side, “You’re so… weak. Fragile wizard man,  _ puuuny,  _ I could push you over with… I bet even Fjord could push you… his noodle arms…” The amusingly insulting concern trailed off into murmurs as Nott drifted off again into a half-sleep, huddled at his hip like a large cat. 

Caleb smiled wanly, beginning to stroke Nott’s hair. The smile fell as he felt the heat radiating from her bony form. That wasn’t good, not at all. Perhaps he should go find Caduceus. 

Swallowing, Caleb shifted away from Nott as gently as he could manage and swung his legs down to the floor. Even that seemed a terrible effort. With a deep inhale, he tried to stand. A wave of nausea hit him like a boulder thrown by a stone giant, and the floor seemed to rock and wheel like he’d just stepped onto water covered over with a tarp drawn taut. 

Caleb sat back down, head falling into his hands. He felt like absolute shit. The nausea slowly subsided, but the pounding at his temples, the burning in his eyes, and the absolute bone-weariness weren’t going anywhere. He turned his head just enough to spy Nott out of the corner of his vision, looking wretched but sleeping. His body longed to follow her into sleep, more than anything.

But… he couldn’t. He  _ shouldn’t _ .

“Got to get up,” he whispered to himself in his native tongue. “Have to get help for Nott.”

He was about to make another attempt when he caught a faint knock at the door. “C-come in,” he called, his voice rasping harshly.

The door opened, and like an answered prayer, Caduceus was there. Caleb’s shoulders slumped.

“Mister Caleb.” Caduceus held up the tray in his hands. “Brought some dinner.”

“Oh. Uh, thank you. That was very kind.”

Caduceus set the tray down on the bedside table. “For you, and for Miss Nott,” he said, pointing out the two different settings.

Swallowing past the pain in his throat, Caleb ignored his own food and turned back to the cleric. “Ah, if you were not already busy, I would value your expertise. I was planning to come find you.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“Nott.” Caleb looked down at his small friend. She hadn’t stirred despite Caduceus’s entrance. “She is… very hot. When she’s woken up she hasn’t seemed very coherent. I’m worried for her.”

“Hmmm.” Crossing to the other side of the bed, Caduceus bent down over Nott and ran a brief examination, feeling her forehead and listening to her breathing. Nott twitched and growled a little at the contact, but still didn’t wake. When Caduceus stood up again, his face was thoughtful. “She does seem more under the weather than most of you, but her body might just be trying to break through the fever as quickly as possible. It’s not dangerous yet, and I don’t think it will be, but I suppose it’s always preferable to be safe than sorry.”

“... Ja, I suppose.”

Caduceus scratched at his beard for a moment more before letting out a brief ‘hm.’ “Sleep is probably the best thing for her right now. If she turns for the worse, let me know.” He then collected the now-empty tray and headed for the door, but before he made his exit, he turned back around. There was a benign but very knowing look on his face. “You should get some sleep yourself, Mr. Caleb. It’ll help, trust me.” Then he nudged the door shut behind him. 

For a while, Caleb sat there motionless, feeling exposed. Caduceus always seemed to see right through people. Could he tell that Caleb had been trying to keep himself awake?

Another cough racked through his chest, and his ears rang. Caleb looked at the steaming teacup on the nightstand, at the soft bed Nott was curled up on, at the dimly lit room around them filled with Nott’s knickknacks. It was the most comfort Caleb had known in decades.

He hunched in on himself, feeling his thoughts begin to drift back into the ever-lurking dark corners. His head lowered.

He didn’t deserve this. 

He still remembered home, clear as crystal: Blumenthal, his family’s simple country home, drafty and small but always kept with a well-stoked fire when the days grew cold. When he fell ill as a child, there was always hot stew waiting at his bedside. His mother would bring him flowers and shiny rocks to cheer him up. His father would sit beside him and tell him stories. 

Comfort. Home. Family. He’d rendered all of that to ash, and now he was just supposed to accept these new luxuries like that had never happened, like he hadn’t proved himself unworthy a thousand times over?

Caleb’s shoulders trembled. No, he didn’t deserve such things, in health or illness. Usually he could ignore that reality by making himself useful, through studying magic or helping the group, but now that he felt too wretched to do much of anything he couldn’t distract himself. Better that he got what came in his early days after fleeing the asylum, he thought. He’d barely left the woods in those days, and when clad in only threadbare rags, the winter chill had set in harshly. He’d caught a bad infection in the chest once, and the man who had not yet become Caleb had been convinced it would be his end. He’d spent days curled up and helpless in a woodland hollow, delirious and barely warding himself from the cold with the stuttering flames on his fingertips. Yet somehow, through either miracle or curse, he’d survived it. It had been a much more fitting state of being for someone like him.

He was so lost in the rapid downward spiral of thought and memory that he missed the door creaking open a second time. In fact, it took a large, gray-furred hand holding a vial of some kind in front of his face for Caleb to realize Caduceus had returned. He startled upright, peering up to meet the firbolg’s gentle gaze.

“Something for Nott,” Caduceus said simply, holding out the vial again. “Just a small mix of feverfew and some other soothing herbs.”

Caleb slowly reached out and took it, feeling sluggish as he extricated himself from his own mind. “... For Nott?”

“Yes. Not exactly a pleasant taste, but it should help with the fever. And if anyone will be able to coax her to take it, it would be you.” Caduceus paused, before adding in the slow, casual way he said most things, “She seems to rely on you a lot.”

“We… rely on each other.”

“Yeah, that’s great. It’s always nice to know someone’s looking out for you. I’m sure you’ll be looking after her through the night… though it may be best to catch some shuteye now while she isn’t too bad, in case she needs you later.”

Caleb blinked. “Oh…”

“If you feel comfortable with that.”

“Ah…” Caleb scratched at the back of his neck. He glanced down at Nott, who had shifted from her huddled ball to a sprawl. What if she  _ did _ need him later on and he was too exhausted to be of any help? “Well, I suppose I could manage a nap, once I get her to drink this. Maybe Frumpkin could keep an eye on her in the meantime?”

Caduceus smiled. “Sounds like a great idea. Well, I’ll leave you to it then.” And just as quickly as he’d arrived, he was gone.

Caleb looked back down at Nott. The unsettled, empty feeling in his stomach had lessened. He supposed, when he thought about it, that whether or not he deserved to rest or feel comfort, Nott meant everything to him, and if looking after himself a bit meant looking after her then he knew where his priorities lay. The faintest of smiles made its way onto his face. That really was just like Nott: proving herself an exception to his rules since the day he met her. Gently, he began to shake her awake.

* * *

She was floating, bodiless, and she was terrified.

It felt like drowning, but maybe it was worse than that. When Veth had drowned, she remembered wildly flailing limbs, the agonizing burn in her lungs contrasted against the frigid winter water flowing around her, and horrible, gnarled, clawed little hands gripping her shoulders and the back of her head, holding her down as her life spiraled away with the current. 

This time, however, she didn’t even have a body to begin with, nothing to ground her at all. She wasn’t Veth, but she wasn’t Nott either. And she was burning.

She wanted to writhe, but she had no limbs. She wanted to scream, but had no mouth. What was happening? Had Caleb fulfilled his promise and set her aflame? Was that why she couldn’t feel anything? She wanted to feel hope at that thought, but all she felt was pain.

Then the murky nothing around her was suddenly gone, and she was in the water again; still without substance and swept about as easily as a withered leaf, and still somehow burning. 

Then she saw it. It was her, it was Veth. Or, the husk of her at least. It was a terrible sight, her own corpse just drifting in the water, pale and lifeless, but it was  _ hers _ , and maybe if she could reach it, touch it, then maybe she could bring it back to life and rejoin it somehow. But of course, she had no limbs. No matter how much she tried to thrash and squirm, it made no difference. Her body drifted away from her into the darkness.

_ Help me!  _ She wanted to scream.  _ Someone, please! Caleb, Jester, Yeza, anyone!  _

As if in answer, the world changed around her again... and she heard Yeza’s sweet voice speaking. “Do you want some tea, Veth? We’ve got some honey, I can make it nice and sweet.”

It was their old bedroom, in their little home above the potion shop in Felderwin. She hovered up near the ceiling, looking down from a strange, warped bird’s eye view upon the scene. There was her husband, standing at the side of her bed, talking to the person laying in it. She would have recoiled if she had been able. It was her goblin body in the bed, hunched and clawed and as motionless as an empty doll beneath the blankets. Yeza, however, kept talking to the horrible thing as if it was her. “Oh, don’t worry about Luc, I can look after him for the day. Best way to kill a cold is to sleep it off.”

_ That’s not me! I’m up here! Yeza, I’m right here! _

It felt like she was burning even hotter now, and now there was a strange noise rumbling around her, interspersed with an odd peeping sound. She wanted to shut it out but couldn’t, she wanted to yell but  _ couldn’t.  _

_ Just make it STOP! _

And then, unexpectedly, something smacked her in the face. It was enough to shock Nott awake completely.

It took a few very unpleasant moments of mental flailing to get her bearings. It was dark, and for a second her brain screamed ‘water’ again, but the fact that she was breathing killed that theory very quickly. No, once she took a moment to look around, she realized she was in her room in the Xhorhaus. It was dark because the lights were out. As for the smack, which had felt soft with a few sharp points… Nott rolled over to meet two large feline eyes staring at her. Frumpkin sat hunched over her, paw raised to deliver another swat if necessary.

Nott let out a deep breath that caught on a sob. The remnants of her nightmare were still doing a macabre little dance behind her eyes, and now that she was awake she could identify the source of her pain. She felt as hot as the Nine Hells, and every limb ached. She curled into the fetal position and tried to stop further sobs from escaping, to little success. Her shoulders shook and her tears leaked down her face. She had grown used to pain and feeling like shit over the past few years, but having her dream resurrect memories of Yeza caring for her when she was sick, safe at home above their shop, ripped open an old wound that left her feeling more miserable than she’d felt in a while. Sure she’d been through worse, but right now it was dark, her nightmare still loomed over her thoughts, she felt awful, and her family was thousands of miles away. So she wept.

Frumpkin looked on for a moment, before letting out a short yowl.

Nott tensed up, her sobs half-interrupted. “No, Frumpkin, ss _ sshhh _ !” she hissed. From the dip in the bed behind her, she knew Caleb was sleeping on the opposite side, and she didn’t want him to see her like this. “Shut UP, you stupid cat!” 

In reply, he screeched louder.

Nott heard Caleb startle awake. Desperately, she went limp, hoping to fake that she was still asleep. Unfortunately, she’d never been a good liar. 

“Nott?” Caleb’s voice rasped in the darkness. With a sudden flare, one of his dancing lights blinked into life in the air above the bed, glowing with the dim orange aura of a candle. Nott felt the mattress shift. “Are you alright, Nott?”

“F-Fine. Nothing to worry about. It’s all hunky dory.” Nott curled in on herself even tighter, wanting to believe it was convincing despite her wavering voice and her shivering. 

A large hand rested on her head. “You’re feeling hot again. There’s still some of Caduceus’s remedy here. Let me get you some.”

“I DON’T WANT IT!”

She felt Caleb freeze and she winced. She buried her face in the blankets further. “I just… Really, it’s fine. It was— _ sniff— _ it was just a dream is all. And, and a bit of a headache. Just need to go back to sleep.”

She expected Caleb to press, or call her on the fake casualness, but he didn’t. After a quiet moment, he only said, “Alright, Nott. If you’re sure.” The light blinked out.

Swallowing back both relief and tears, Nott settled, trying her best to keep her heaviness of heart on the inside and out of sight. She was preparing to lie awake struggling for a good while yet, before she felt Caleb’s hand on her head again, beginning to stroke her coarse hair and occasionally giving her a scratch. Then he began to hum.

It was an unfamiliar tune, and a little scratchy due to his dry throat, but it was a soothing melody. As Nott listened, the tension slowly began to ease from her limbs. Frumpkin, who’d been sitting sentinel-still at the edge of the bed, now wormed his way in between Nott and Caleb, coiling up between them at Nott’s back. His purring rumbled against her. 

After a few minutes, Nott stirred. Caleb’s hand retracted. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked. 

“N-No! I mean, if you want to that’s fine, but I don’t mind. It’s nice. I was just wondering what the song was.”

“Mmm. Something my father used to sing sometimes. He, ah, picked it up when he served with the Righteous Brand. It was something they would sing when they lost a friend, to celebrate their life. It was meant to lighten their grief. It’s always stuck with me.”

Nott swallowed back a lump. “That’s… very nice.”

“I’ve always enjoyed the tune.”

Nott’s twiddled her fingers for a moment. In a whisper, barely audible even to herself, she confessed, “I miss Yeza.”

The hand returned, resting on her shoulder. “If you want, and you are feeling well enough, I could take you to Nicodranas tomorrow. It wouldn’t have to be a long visit. I believe I’m familiar enough with the spell to teleport us twice a day now.”

Nott let out something between a laugh and a whimper. “That means a lot to me, Caleb. But I don’t think so. I told him before that the next time I see him, I wanted to be myself again. Maybe that’s not possible, but I don’t feel like I can go back so soon.”

“If you’re sure. But remember, the offer is always on the table for you. And… we may not be family by blood, but I’m always here for you, as are the others. You’re one of us, Nott.”

Nott said nothing. Instead, protected by the darkness she knew Caleb couldn’t see through, she swiped away the last of her tears, got up onto hands and knees, and crawled over to him. His open arms were waiting. As they wrapped around her and Nott buried her face in his nightshirt, she could feel her longing for Yeza and Luc and the life she had lost still aching inside of her, but she also felt infinite gratitude for what she had right now. Even if she could never get her old life back, at least she had this.

Side by side, like they had numerous times in the past, the two of them fell asleep, and this time, Nott had no dreams. 

* * *

Caduceus hummed tunelessly as he whittled away at a small block of wood. The twinkling lights that hung from the branches above him glowed softly and lit the rooftop garden with a dreamlike radiance. 

The house had gone quiet a few hours ago, so he estimated that the time was getting close to midnight. He’d done a round of check-ins and had been pleased to see everyone getting a proper rest. Beau, Jester, and Fjord had been knocked out on the floor of the girls’ room amidst a nest of bedding, and Caleb and Nott had been curled around each other on the bed, with Frumpkin stretched out longways at the foot. Now it was just him, beneath the tree with only the stars and his goddess’s watchful eyes for company. 

He sliced away one last chip from his project. Turning it over in his hands, he nodded in satisfaction, before striding over to one of the little homemade shrines. Gently, he placed the small angel statuette down beside the symbol of the Stormlord, before retreating to his place beneath the tree. He sat down cross-legged and began setting up a ring of incense around him. As the heady scents began to drift up in trails around him, Caduceus sent up a small prayer of gratitude to the Wildmother for her providence, and a brief wish also to a god that wasn’t his own.

_ If your designs see fit… bring her back to us, so we can care for her too. _

Then he fell into silent communion. And the night passed peacefully in the Xhorhaus. 


End file.
